language to free himself from the importunities of a Jewess?"

"A Jewess!" said Cedric, availing himself of the information to get clear of their interruption,-"Let me pass, woman! stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from my holy office, and would avoid pollution."

"Come this way, father," said the old hag, "thou art a stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it with- . out a guide. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. And you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man's chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide you if you again quit it without my permission !"

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon Urfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had employed her services where she herself would most gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their dangerous situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means of safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something from the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in favour of the prisoners; with what imperfect success the reader has been just acquainted.

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH.

Fond wretch! and what canst thou relate,
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin ?
Thy deeds are proved-thou know'st thy fate;
But come, thy tale-begin-begin.

*

*

But I have griefs of other kind,

Troubles and sorrows more severe;

Give me to ease my tortured mind,

Lend to my woes a patient ear;

And let me, if I may not find

A friend to help-find one to hear.

CRABBE'S HALL OF JUSTICE.

WHEN Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Rebecca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting a fact than asking a question, "Thou art Saxon, father-Deny it not," she continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to reply; "the sounds of my native language are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from the tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling.

Thou art a Saxon, father- a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of God, a freeman.-Thine accents are sweet in mine ear."

"Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then?" replied Cedric; "it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast and oppressed children of the soil."

66

They come not- —or if they come, they better love to revel at the board of their conquerors," answered Urfried, "than to hear the groans of their countrymen -so, at least, report speaks of them-of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save the debauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels of Front-de-Boeuf, and he has been long gone to render an account of his stewardship.But thou art a Saxon-a Saxon priest, and I have one question to ask of thee."

"I am a Saxon," answered Cedric, "but unworthy, surely, of the name of priest. Let me be gone on my way-I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear your confession."

"Stay yet a while," said Urfried; "the accents of the voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I have lived. But wine must give me strength to tell the horrors of my tale." She poured out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. "It stupifies," she said, looking upwards as she finished her draught, "but it cannot cheer-Partake it, father, if you would hear my tale without sinking down upon

the pavement." Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but the sign which she made to him expressed impatience and despair. He complied with her request, and answered her challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance.

"I was not born," she said, "father, the wretch that thou now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, and was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and degraded-the sport of my master's passions while I had yet beauty-the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away.— Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, and, above all, the race that has wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itself in impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble Thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals trembled?"

"Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolfganger!" said Cedric, receding as he spoke; "thou-thou-the daughter of that noble Saxon, my father's friend and companion in arms!"

"then

"Thy father's friend!" echoed Urfried; Cedric called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Hereward of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well known among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Rotherwood, why this religious dress?—hast thou too despaired of saving thy country, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of the convent?"

“It matters not who I am," said Cedric; "proceed, unhappy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt !— Guilt there must be, there is guilt even in thy living to tell it."

"There is—there is," answered the wretched woman "deep, black, damning guilt-guilt, that lies like a Icad at my breast-guilt, that all the penitential fires of hereafter cannot cleanse. Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble and pure blood of my father and my brethren in these very halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, the slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render every breath which I drew of vital air, a crime and a curse."

« And

"Wretched woman!" exclaimed Cedric. while the friends of thy father-while each true Saxon heart, as it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived to merit our hate and execration— lived to unite thyself with the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest-who shed the blood of infancy, rather than a male of the noble house of Torquil Wolfganger should survive with him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in the bands of lawless love!**

“In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love!" answered the hag; "love will sooner visit the regions of eternal doom, than those unhallowed vanka. —No, with that at least I cannot reproach myself-hatred to Front-de-Boeuf and his race governed my scul most deeply, even in the hour of his guilty endearments.”